A Christmas Carol
by PerLuminisPropinquus
Summary: House is visited by Three Spirits. A retelling of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Eventual House/Wilson slash
1. Stave One

A/N: I'm sure this has been done by _somebody _before, but never by me ^_~ This is a Christmas Carol rewrite (sort of), there will be four chapters posted (unless something goes horribly wrong) each Saturday in December until Christmas. The next chapters will be a little longer, and follow (slightly) closer to the plot of the book…

Warnings: House/Wilson slash, implied (or not so implied…) character death in the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come chapter

Disclaimer: In no way do I own either House or A Christmas Carol, I am just borrowing them

Stave One

Marley's Ghost

Or, The Donor Party

It was Christmas Eve and both House and Wilson were still at the hospital's Christmas party.

A big overweight man stalked past, he glared over at House and snarled, "Scrooge."

Wilson snickered, "Who was that?"

House shrugged, "Dunno. Some donor. He wanted me to give him money. I asked him why he needed _my _money when he was clearly rich enough to buy really expensive, ugly clothing."

"He's got you pegged, though," Wilson grinned. Then in a fake eerie voice he continued, "You will be visited by three spirits, Scrooge."

"Sure, thanks for that Marley." House glared at his friend.

"Hey! I'm nothing like Marley, plus I don't wanna to be dead." Wilson whined.

"I don't know… You really are the Marley to my Scrooge, minus the dead part. I hope."

"How long do you think Cuddy will keep us here?" Wilson asked a moment later, after looking around the room for anything remotely interesting.

"Depends on how many donors I can tick off, and how quickly. I think the fat guy was important though, so she might actually kick us out now."

"HOUSE!" the furious roar caused all movement to stop and all conversations to cease, as the furious women stalked towards House and Wilson.

"Five… Four…" House began to count.

"Why must you always make my life so difficult!"

Under his breath, so that only Wilson could hear him House continued, "Three…"

"And you!" Cuddy rounded on Wilson, "You are supposed to be able to control him!"

"Who told you I could do that?" Wilson asked, truly curious, he needed to find whoever had started those rumors and kill them. He couldn't control House any more than he could control a really crazy, hungry tiger.

"…two…" House muttered.

Cuddy looked like she wouldn't mind if both of them dropped dead right then.

"One!"

"GET OUT! Both of you. Just leave!" Cuddy exploded.

Outside, snow was falling, beginning to coat the ground.

"Maybe we'll have a white Christmas." Wilson said wistfully.

"Aren't you Jewish?" House asked.

"Eh." Wilson shrugged noncommittally. "Come on, I'll drive you home. It's too cold for you to take the bike."

House scowled but followed Wilson without an argument.

The ride back to Wilson's was quiet. House scowled outside at the Christmas lights. Wilson's eyes flicked over to him, then he sighed and turned on the radio. A Christmas carol began to play, House's scowl deepened and he reached over to turn the radio off. Wilson rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, he knew that his friend was not a holiday person, and it was easier not to argue.

As soon as they got back to the flat House stomped away to his room. Wilson heard the door slam, and the click of the lock. Wilson rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly, he was starting to hate the holiday too, if only because it made House so unbearable.

House changed quickly and dropped into his bed, scowling at the ceiling. He was laying there, in the dark, when he heard the clanking. He sat up with a start, the noise paused and then resumed, louder than before. It sounded like metal chains. He heard his door creak open, House flicked the light on, but his door was still shut and nobody was in the room.

_You will be visited by Three Spirits _a ghostly echo of Wilson's voice from earlier echoed through the room.

House scowled, "Wilson, what the hell?"

_You must change your ways House. The first Spirit will visit you tomorrow, expect him when the bell tolls one. The second the next night and the same hour. The third will come the next night when the last stroke of Twelve has ceased to vibrate._

House stood up and slammed the door open, shouting Wilson's name. The oncologist stumbled out of his bedroom, blinking blearily.

"What do you want House?"

"Where you just saying something?" House asked.

"No! I was asleep. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just go back to sleep."

Wilson nodded, and went back into his room.

House went into his own room, slamming the door behind him and growling "Humbug!"


	2. Stave Two

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/added to favorites/subscribed, you are all awesome! I hope you enjoy chapter two!

I have not actually watched every season of House (yet… just 5, 6, 1, and most of 2) So some of the scenes might not be totally accurate, if they aren't let me know and I'll do my best to fix them ^_~

Warnings: mentions of House/Stacy, really, really vague mentions of child abuse

Disclaimer: In no way do I own either House or A Christmas Carol, I am just borrowing them

Stave Two

The First of the Three Ghosts

Or, the Return of Kutner

House jolted awake, everything was silent for a moment, and he couldn't figure out what had woken him. Then a bell tolled, once, deep and melancholy . He frowned, there weren't any bells close enough to the flat that he would be able to hear them.

"House?"

House turned around to see a brightly glowing figure sitting next to his bed, wincing at the light, he growled, "Could you stop glowing?"

"Oh, sure." The figure responded cheerfully. The light dimmed to reveal Kutner.

"Oh great. I'm hallucinating again."

"Not quite. I am the Ghost of Christmas of Christmas Past,"

"Really?" House interrupted.

"No, well yes. Sort of. The other guy is on vacation, so I offered to fill in. I am here to show you why your life sucks, based on your childhood… I think. They didn't really explain like, at all…"

"Great. My life has just become _A Christmas Carol. _Stupid donor."

Kutner bounced eagerly, "Come on. We've got to get going, this is the fun part!"

"Fun part for who?" House asked.

"Me! It's for your 'welfare' or something, but well, you've seen _A Christmas Carol _right? Anyway, come on!" Kutner grabbed House's hand a dragged him out of bed, heading towards the window.

"Hang on," Kutner paused and turned back to House, laying his hand upon the living doctors heart, "now we can go." As he said this, Kutner led House forward and they passed through the wall and outside. Everything blurred and seemed to be rushing by at super speed, House caught a brief glance of a Christmas he spent in Egypt and then another when they were in Japan. The world finally stopped moving, and he found himself standing next to Kutner outside the home he had spent the worst years of his childhood in.

A little boy was sitting on the grass a few feet from them, he shivered and gazed longingly at the brightly lit house.

"That's me." House whispered, stepping forward

"He cannot hear or see you, he is merely a spirit of what once was."

"I know that.' House snapped, watching his younger self in fascination.

"Greg!" both looked up, the younger House jumped to his feet and ran to meet his mother.

"John said you could come back inside dear." Blythe told him, wrapping a blanket around the shivering boy.

"That was the first time she stood up to him for me. Actually, it was the only time. She was never brave enough, and despite everything he did, she still loved him."

"I know." Kutner said.

"Can we go?"

"Yes, there is more to see, and the night can only last so long."

These words seemed to be a cue, because suddenly noise filled the air. The bar was crowded, and House smiled as he heard the familiar notes of "Leave A Tender Moment Alone". At the sound of the crashing, House whipped around to see a very drunk Wilson staring in confusion at the mirror he had just broken. Over the noise of the fight that was beginning to erupt House could hear his younger self chuckling. He grinned to himself, remembering how confused Wilson had been later that night when House had bailed him out of jail. House could just hear the sirens approaching when Kutner tapped him on the shoulder, "My time is short, we must go."

"Alright," House agreed, casting a regretful glance backwards. That night, when he had first met Wilson, was possibly one of the best in his life. Things had been so much simpler then.

The next scene was not as bright. House now found himself in his old apartment. All the lights were off, but the TV was on. This House was slumped on the couch, facing the TV but not watching. His face was drawn and gaunt and he had dark circles under his eyes. One hand hovered above his thigh, the other was creeping towards the open Vicodin bottle on the table.

"Greg?" a voice called, and Stacy walked into sight. The younger House did not respond.

Kutner glanced worriedly at his companion who had frozen at the sight of Stacy.

"Greg? Are you ok?" Stacy asked, her voice growing unintentionally harsher as she grew frustrated. Her patience was almost gone.

Completely gone, House knew. He silently willed his younger self to do something, anything.

"Greg," Stacy sighed, sitting down next to him on the couch and carefully placing the lid on the Vicodin bottle, frowning at how few pills were left in the bottle she had picked up the day before. "Are you ever going to be able to forgive me? I've tried so hard to believe that you would, but I don't know that I can keep this up."

House's former self finally responded, he turned to Stacy, fixing her with cold, almost lifeless eyes.

"I don't know that I can," he whispered, voice raspy.

Stacy looked as if she were fighting back the urge to cry, "Aright. That is all I needed to hear. We can't keep fooling ourselves, Greg. If you can't forgive me then this isn't going to work." She stood up, suddenly all business, "I'll come by tomorrow to pick up my stuff." Then she was gone.

"Kutner, please take me home!" House pleaded.

"Alright" Kutner agreed, looking almost sorry for haunting House, even though he knew that it would all be for the best. Hopefully.

House suddenly felt exhausted, and he stumbled back into his own bed, falling asleep immediately.


	3. Stave Three

A/N: I had quite a bit of trouble writing this chapter… I don't feel like it's quite as good as the others, so I apologies in advance. I hope you enjoy it anyway! (I'm never a very good judge of weather or not my own writing is good)

The next chapter is going to be the most fun ^_~ Virtual cookies to anyone who can guess who the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come is!

The next chapter will either be Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day depending on weather I end up splitting the chapter into two parts (part one would be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and part two would be Christmas Day…)

Warning: very, very slight Wilson/OFC and Wilson/OMC

Disclaimer: Don't own House or A Christmas Carol. The list of food, and the ending of the last sentence (when it talks about the Third Ghost's arrival) are directly out of the book so I especially don't own those bits…

Stave Three

The Second of the Three Spirits

Or, Why the real Ghosts of Christmas should never, _ever_ be allowed to go on vacation

When House woke up again, he did not need to hear the bell strike one. He glanced warily around the room, narrowing his eyes as he watched for the arrival of the Ghost of Christmas Present. The bell stuck one, and nothing happened. He waited, growing increasingly nervous. An hour passed and House gave up on waiting. He stood up and grimaced, his thigh hurt like hell. When Kutner had visited his leg hadn't bothered him at all, and he had barely noticed. This time it was back to his normal level of pain. Figures. He pushed the door open, and limped into the living room. There had never been a fireplace in the room before, but there was now and the fire was roaring. The walls were all covered with living green and bright red berries which reflected the light like mirrors. Heaped on the floor was a throne formed of turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, suckling-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch.

Sitting on top of this makeshift throne was the antithesis of the jolly giant who was described in the book.

House frowned. "Christmas ghosts should _not _be allowed to take vacation around Christmas," he muttered, watching the man on top of the throne smile at him.

John House just smirked. House glared at the man who had raised him. John's ghost was wearing a green robe bordered with white fur, and a wreath of holly on his head.

"Are you ready to go?" John asked.

"Sure. I don't really have a choice." House agreed.

The room vanished and the two stood on the streets on a snowy Christmas morning. They walked through the cheerful, bustling crowds. John finally stopped in front of Cuddy's apartment. House tapped his cane nervously as John tried to figure out how to use the Ghost's torch to bless the apartment building. As soon as he had figured it out, they entered the building.

House walked into the living room, followed by John. Cuddy and Lucas were cuddling on the couch while Rachel cooed over her new toys. The apartment was slightly cramped feeling, but it was warm and smelled of Christmas foods.

"You screwed up." John commented.

"What?"

"You shouldn't have let her go." John growled.

"Yeah? Well last I checked Cuddy is an adult. She can make her own decisions. There wasn't anything I could have done. Besides they're happy together," House growled.

John shrugged, "if you hadn't given up you could have won her back."

House glared at John and snapped, "aren't you supposed to be making me a better person? How is telling me to break up a perfectly happy couple helping with that?" He stalked into the kitchen, missing John's triumphant smirk.

As Cuddy, Lucas, and Rachel settled down to their Christmas dinner, all smiling and laughing and cheerful John finally followed House into the kitchen.

"We should go."

"Alright," House agreed.

The apartment faded away.

As the next room came into focus, House heard a doorbell ring. He turned to see Thirteen letting a solemn looking Chase into the apartment. House limped closer to see what was going on.

"Chase! I'm glad you decided to come," Thirteen smiled brightly, but House knew that she had noticed that Chase had been drinking, "Foreman is already here, and Taub should be arriving soon."

"Thanks for inviting me." Chase said. House could see how much he meant that, and wondered what his Fellow would have done if Thirteen hadn't invited him. He felt a pang of guilt for his part in Chase and Cameron's break-up. He glared at John as if all this was his fault.

As soon as Taub and Taub's wife arrived, the latter not looking particularly happy to be there, the party really started. Beer was drunk, and Thirteen somehow coerced everyone into playing Blind-mans bluff. At this House grimed and turned to John, "Does she know about the Christmas Carol thing going on, or does she really think it's the 1800s?"

"Do you actually have to mock _everything? _That could be why you don't have any friends."

"Hey! I have friends!" House thought for a minute, "Three of them. Sort of…"

"Just one more place to visit," John told him, ignoring House's comment.

"Wait, aren't you supposed to take me to a whole bunch of places and bless them or whatever?"

"I'm not _actually _the Ghost of Christmas Present, I'm just hear to try to prevent you from screwing up your life anymore."

"Oh, gee, thanks," House grumbled.

"On that note, lets get this over with." John led the way out of Thirteen's apartment and back onto the street, House had to struggle to keep up.

"I feel so loved," he muttered bitterly, then, louder, he asked, "Where exactly are we going now?"

"To see your friend Wilson." John replied.

House frowned, wondering what Wilson could be doing that would be important for him to see. House had planned to just hang around the loft and sulk all of Christmas day, and he had assumed that Wilson would join him and try to make him do something vaguely holiday-related.

John paused outside a bar, "you should try not to drive everyone away. It has, and will continue to hurt you." For once, the ghost sounded genuinely concerned. Then John pushed the door open, and House followed him into the bar.

Wilson was seated at the bar with quite a few empty glasses surrounding him. He laughed at something a pretty blond 20-something said and knocked back another shot. House winced as the girl reached out to touch Wilson's arm. He shook the brief flash of jealously away. If Wilson liked this girl there was nothing he could do about it, except try to drive her away. There was not even much point in that anymore. No matter how many times he hinted at it, and drove away the various girls who flocked around Wilson, the oncologist had never indicated in any way that he might like House back. Despite all comments and jokes, House had become convinced that Wilson was completely heterosexual.

Or not. House gaped as a young guy came up to Wilson and whispered something in his ear. Wilson grinned and nodded, hoping down from the bar stool. The other guy smiled brightly and led the oncologist to the dance floor. House _knew _that Wilson knew what he was doing, the younger doctor had not drunk anywhere near enough to be _that _drunk.

"What did I tell you about making assumptions?" John asked, House whipped around to glare at John as the older man continued, "you really screwed up."

House turned away, from the ghost, and from the sight of his best friend. "I know," he whispered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

When he opened his eyes he was alone on the street. The bell began to toll. After the vibrations from the twelfth stroke died away, he saw a solemn phantom, draped and hooded, coming like a mist along the ground towards him.


	4. Stave Four

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

Warnings: Major and minor character death, angst, alcoholism, Wilson/OMC

Disclaimer: I still do not own House or _A Christmas Carol_

Stave Four

The Last of the Spirits

Or, Amber's Revenge

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached. House trembled as the spirit approached, it seemed to scatter gloom and mystery. It was shrouded in a black garment which covered its head, face, and form leaving nothing but a singe pale hand exposed. The Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

"You are the Ghost of Christmas yet To Come?" House guessed. It nodded slowly.

"I'm supposed to say I fear you right? And that I know you are here to help me. I'm supposed to welcome you right? Well I'd really just like you to leave. Any chance of that happening?"

The Spirit shook its head.

"This could get really annoying, really fast. Will you not speak to me?"

The spirit seemed to regard him for a moment, before it seemed to shrug and pushed back its hood.

"If you insist." Amber smirked.

"Oh god," House groaned, "you're the worst one yet…"

"Oh gee thanks." Amber glared at him.

"You're welcome," House grinned, "anyway, lead on. Let's get this over with."

"Whatever you want." Amber agreed with a very sinister smile.

"Why do I feel like this is not going to be fun?" House sighed.

"Because it won't be." Amber smirked.

With a sickening jolt they left the street, and landed in the hospital locker room.

"I don't know much about it. I only know he's dead." A fat doctor with a monstrous chin remarked.

"When did he die?" Another doctor asked.

"Last night, I believe," Giant-Chin-Man replied.

"What was wrong with him? I thought he'd never die."

"God knows." Chin said.

"They're talking about me, aren't they?" House asked, scowling at the other doctors.

"What's going to happen to his team?" A red-faced doctor asked

"I honestly don't know," Chin replied, "Either Dr. Foreman will take over, or it'll be disbanded."

"Guess that answers my question." House sighed, "Do we really have to go through all of this? Can't you just tell me how to reform."

"Not a chance. This is way too much fun." Amber smiled, patting House on the shoulder consolingly. "Come on, it only gets better. This is the part where we visit your dead body."

"Joy." House groaned, trying to keep his voice neutral and not let Cut Throat Bitch know how frightened he really was.

They were in his room in the flat. A white sheet covered the body lying in the bed. A pale, sickly light was the only thing illuminating the room. Otherwise it was as cold and lifeless as the body.

His body.

"Amber," House began, fighting to keep his voice from trembling, "Can we go? _Now._"

"Sure." Amber replied, seemingly unaffected by the whole scene, but she had seen the color drain from House's face as they entered the room, and she almost felt sorry that she had to bring him here.

They were back in the hospital, in the ICU which was swarming with doctors. Cuddy and Lucas were glaring daggers at each other outside the room. Suddenly all the doctors stilled. Cuddy's eyes widened and she whipped around to face Chase who had walked out of the room.

Faintly, House could hear Foreman state the time of death in a wooden voice.

"No!" Cuddy gasped, pushing past Chase and shoving her way through the doctors to the bedside.

Lucas cast a nervous glance at Chase.

"I'm sorry." Chase told him.

"She broke up with me." Lucas stated, looking shell-shocked.

Chase grimaced, "You should go home. Give her some time, she'll come around."

"I doubt it!" Lucas snapped, "Her daughter just died!"

House had gone very still. "My team couldn't save her?"

"No. You would have been able to. They weren't."

With that, Amber led him to a dismal graveyard. Amber pointed to one of the graves. House stepped forward to see a single red rose lying beside the tombstone. House's tombstone.

"I can change this right? These are only the shadows of things that May Be, right?" House asked, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from the ends will change. There's still hope for you House, but you have to change."

House glanced at the grave again before taking a deep breath and asking, "I know this is normally where you would leave me, but can we see Wilson? Please?"

Amber hesitated, "I'm… really not supposed to. I was instructed not to let you see, but I know you better. You need more of an incentive to change than your own death. Lets go."

The apartment they were in was small but immaculately clean. House trudged into the living room, dreading what he would find.

Wilson was slumped on the couch, his cloths were wrinkled and slightly stained. He was thin, and there were dark circles under his sunken eyes. He was holding a half empty beer bottle in one hand. His feet were on the table amid a clutter of already empty bottles.

"What the hell?" House hissed to Amber.

"He was devastated by your death. He blames himself."

"Why?"

"He thinks that if he had been in the flat he would have realized something was wrong."

"Where was he?"

"On a date," Amber paused as the door opened and the man from the bar walked in, "with him."

"I'm home Wilson, how are you?"

Wilson shrugged and took another swig of his beer. Bar guy winced, but didn't comment.

"His name is Hosmer Angel." Amber supplied.

"Seriously? Somebody actually named their kid that?" House mocked half-heartedly. Watching in horror as Hosmer Angel dropped onto the couch next to Wilson and kissed him.

"Alright, that's enough of that. Time to go." House said, hurriedly leaving the room.

"Good luck House. Get to Wilson before Hosmer does!"

House woke with a start, to find himself back in his own room. He sighed in relief, then hopped out of bed, throwing on clean clothes. He did not bother to ask what day it was, other parts had been messed up, but if Amber expected him to find Wilson before Hosmer Angel did, then they must have stuck to the one night.

House bust into Wilson's room, to find him already gone. Cursing his luck, House grabbed his coat and, moving as fast as his leg would let him, headed out into the snowy street.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember what the bar had looked like. He practically screamed for joy when he realized that not only did he know the bar, it wasn't too far away. Easily within walking distance. House set off, whipping out his cell as he went.

"_House? What do you want?" _Cuddy's voice snapped.

"I wanted to tell you that if Rachel starts acting strange, bring her to me _immediately._ Also, I'm sorry for trying to break you and Lucas up. I think you deserve to be happy, and Lucas can make you happy."

"_House? Did you hit your head or something?"_

"Thanks for your confidence in me! I've got to go save Wilson now. Merry Christmas!" he shut the phone and walked into the bar.

He spotted Hosmer making his way towards Wilson and sped up to intercept him.

"You should turn around now." He growled, brushing past the younger man and making his way to Wilson.

He froze for a moment to gather his courage. Then he took a step closer and said, hesitantly, "Wilson?"

"House?" Wilson whipped around, frowning in confusion.

"Merry Christmas," House told him, leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

Wilson pulled back, grinning cheekily, "God bless us every one!"


End file.
